


Let Love Lead Us (Love is Christmas)

by Bucket_Burns



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, 2016, Alcohol, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky's scared of the war, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Crying, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers knows Everything, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Actually Helpful, Wordcount: Over 10.000, but it's not explored, except for when he's not, just a little, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:47:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bucket_Burns/pseuds/Bucket_Burns
Summary: The Christmas season will always be something special to Steve and Bucky.Inspired by the song "Love is Christmas", By Sara Bareilles.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	Let Love Lead Us (Love is Christmas)

_I don’t care if the house is packed, or the strings of light are broken  
I don’t care if the gifts are wrapped, or there’s nothing there to open. _

December 20th, 1928

“Do you think it’s enough?” Steve stepped back to look up at his handiwork. The tree wasn’t tall at all, but he could still see blank spots where the ornaments didn’t cover. There were sections where the trunk was visible and spots higher on the tree that he just couldn’t reach. Steve stared dejectedly at the crooked thin tree. Many of the ornaments were cracked and glued together, and the angel on top was missing an eye. Steve moped, peeking back down into the box by his feet, now empty, save for a few ornaments broken beyond repair.

“We don’t have enough,” he whined, looking up at his mother, his lower lip jutted out in a pout.

Sarah smiled, swooping down to look at the tree from Steve’s point of view. She tilted her head theatrically and squinted one eye as she hummed in thought.

“I think it’s a masterpiece, Steven! I think it could use some tinsel though” Steve wrinkled his nose as his mother ruffled his hair. 

“But I hate the tinsel. It looks like spiderwebs, and it’s so messy. Besides, I can’t even reach that high!”

Sarah turned around to respond when there was an enthusiastic knocking on the front door. She let out a chuckle instead as Steve rushed to the door and yanked it open. There in the doorway stood an excitable boy, with brown curly hair tucked into a blue knit beanie, and a big gap where his front tooth should be. Steve wondered how he even made it all the way to their apartment with the number of layers he appeared to be wearing, resembling more of a five-point star than a human being.

“Hiya Buck,” Steve grinned, stepping to the side. “Come in quick, the heat’ll get out.” Bucky stomped his feet quickly on the porch to shake the snow from his shoes, and waddled into the apartment, already trying to unbutton his thick winter coat, which was proving difficult with his mittens still on his hands.

“You haven’t put the tinsel up yet, have you? That’s my favorite part!” Bucky gave up on the coat and tried for the mittens instead. “Hi Mrs. Rogers!”

“Hello Bucky,” she chuckled, kneeling down to help Bucky with his coat. “We haven’t started the tinsel yet. We were waiting for you, weren’t we Steve?” Steve huffed and rolled his eyes, but one more look at Bucky’s excited face and ne nodded in consent. Steve knew Bucky’s family didn’t celebrate Christmas, and it was something he had become infatuated with quickly once he had met Steve. He had told Steve once that the little lights on the tree looked like magic.

As Sarah pulled Bucky’s coat away and hung it by the door, Bucky bounded up to the last untouched decoration box and pulled it open. His grin grew even larger as he began pulling out long strands of tinsel, creased and crumpled but just as shiny. He turned back to Steve, peering over a huge bunch in his hands, and Steve decided the silver matched Bucky’s eyes very nicely. It wasn’t so bad, he decided, if Bucky liked it this much. They set about covering the tree in the silver strands, Bucky doing the higher parts of the tree and Steve taking the lower half. 

“Any idea what she might get you this year,” Bucky whispered to Steve as they worked. Sarah was busying herself in the kitchen, just out of earshot of the boys.

“I dunno if she’ll be able to get anything this year, Buck. Money’s just not there,” he said sadly, looking up at the broken bulbs on the shabby tree. “If I wasn’t getting so sick all the time,” he trailed off, looking to the floor.

“Well... so what if you don’t get anything this year,” Bucky grinned, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve got your mama, and you’ve got me, what else could you ask for, really?” Bucky’s cocky grin made Steve laugh and push him away, though it didn’t budge Bucky at all.

“I guess you’re right,” Steve grinned as his mom came walking out of the kitchen with two hot cocoas in hand. “I’ve got everything I need.”

Bucky smiled to himself, thinking of the few bills he had saved up from his allowance. It should be just enough for a chocolate bar for Steve and a couple red roses for Mrs. Rogers. He was determined to make their holiday happy.

_Love is not a toy, and no paper will conceal it  
Love is simply joy that I’m home _

December 25th, 1934

Sarah opened the front door, smiling softly at the young man on the porch, his brown curly hair tucked into a blue knit beanie, and a thick navy winter coat covered in a thin dusting of snow. He smiled sadly at her.

“Merry Christmas Bucky, glad you’re here.” Bucky swooped down to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Sarah. How’s he doing?” He stepped through the doorway, pulling off his coat and hat and hanging them by the front door. He turned and assessed the apartment. Their decorations sat in their dusty boxes, unopened. The intent of decorating was there, but it looked as if they just hadn’t had time to get the tree, or get to any decorating before Steve’s fever skyrocketed. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to any of our normal festivities this year,” Sarah hedged around Bucky’s question, her eyes glistening. “I know you’ve always loved helping with the decorations.” Bucky shook his head, and turned back to her.

“That’s alright. Not really kids anymore anyway, huh?” The sad smile never left his face. 

“You’ll always be those little boys running around the house, covering my living room in tinsel,” she chuckled, reaching up and ruffling his hair like she’s always done. “Thank you for coming to keep an eye on him. I hate leaving him on Christmas, but I-”

“You know I never spend Christmas anywhere else,” his smile brightened a little then, as he gave Sarah another hug. “And unlike Stevie, your patients don’t have loving, caring, understanding and very handsome best friends to keep them company. S’why they need you.”

“We’re lucky to know you, Bucky Barnes,” she chuckled affectionately. “He’s asleep now but you can go see him. This is not the worst we’ve seen, but… it hasn’t been the easiest for him. I’ll be back late tonight.” Sarah wrapped her scarf around her neck and opened the front door. “Be good.”

“Always,” he grinned. The door closed behind her, and Bucky made his way to Steve’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and Steve was indeed asleep, wrapped up in so many blankets you would never guess he was so scrawny. His skin looked sickly white, with dark circles under his closed eyes. Even so, this was not the worst Bucky has seen Steve in the last few years. His cheeks still had a tinge of pink to them, and his breathing, though still rattling through his asthmatic lungs, was not nearly as short or irratic as Bucky had heard it in the past. His unkempt hair fell onto his forehead, and into his eyes. The chair set up next to the bed told Bucky that Sarah probably hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last couple days. He took a seat, pushing Steve’s hair back to feel his forehead. The fever was still there, his skin sweltering against Bucky’s cold fingers. Steve’s eyes fluttered open then, peeking up at Bucky. 

“Ah great,” Steve croaked, voice rough from sleep. “It’s Christmas Day and my only present is seeing your ugly mug.” 

“Merry Christmas to you too, punk. How ya feeling?”

“Like shit,” he turned his head and let out a hacking cough. “You here to babysit me?” 

“I’m here to spend Christmas with my best friend, like I always do.” Bucky tapped Steve’s forehead with his fingers and pulled his hand back reaching into his pants pocket. “But if you’d rather I left, I can take this-” he pulled a thin package from his pocket, wrapped in newspaper, “and go sell it for a pack of gum.” 

“I told you to stop getting me presents when I can’t return the favor,” Steve grumbled. His glare looked half-hearted at best.

“Look my job’s been paying good money, and it’s not like my family will accept any gifts, so just take it, and pay me back by drawing me something nice.” He handed the package to Steve, and leaned back in the chair, watching as Steve carefully untied the string and unfolded the edges of the paper. Three sticks of charcoal laid inside.

“These are nice, Buck.” Steve meant it to be reproachful, but Bucky just grinned wider, kicked his feet up on to the bed, and leaned back further, picking the front legs of the chair up off the floor. 

“I know. They’ll go well with the sketchbook from your birthday.”

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Nope.”

“But I don’t need-”

“Just let me. You deserve nice things, Steve. Just because you don’t have the money, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have the things you want. How are you supposed to do what you love if you don’t have the supplies to do it?” Bucky’s eyes were sincere, and Steve couldn’t detect any sense of obligation in his words. “Besides, it’s Christmas. You can’t fight me on Christmas. I’ll tell your ma.” 

“I’d like to think my Ma would be proud of me,” Steve sighed, setting the charcoals down on the side table. He slid back down under the blankets as he let out another shaky cough.

“Yeah because you’re both the same person. Stubborn.” Bucky took a look around Steve’s room. It was decidedly unfestive in here as well. Bucky knew they had more important things to worry about this year, but it made him feel funny that the Rogers family didn’t get to celebrate the way they normally do. His eyes made their way around the room, and landed back on Steve, who was trying and failing to hide a yawn as his eyes drooped a little. “Get some sleep, Steve.” 

“What’re you gonna do,” Steve questioned, eyes already falling closed.

“I’ll find something to distract me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some hours later, Steve opened his eyes. The sky outside the window was beginning to darken, and he could hear the radio in the living room, softly playing some new holiday hit he hadn’t heard. As he began to sit up, he felt sweat drip down from his forehead, and down his crooked nose. The room felt cold and he wrapped his blanket tighter around him, noticing his shirt felt damp as well. He stood, moving slow, and his joints creaked from disuse. He pulled his blanket from the bed, draping it around his shoulders like a cape, and made his way out of his room and into the living room. What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

The living room was covered in decorations. The boxes on the floor sat empty. They hadn’t had the money for a tree this year, but tucked in the corner where the tree normally stood was their coat rack, and it was covered in a dark green knit blanket he recognized from his closet. It had been a gift from the kind older neighbor in the next apartment over a few years back, but Steve never used it because the yarn was too itchy on his sensitive skin. Hooked into the blanket, were all of their cracked glass ornaments, more looking like they had just been glued back together. Their garlands were hung in every doorway, and tinsel was hanging from every one of them. It looked like tinsel had originally been on the makeshift “tree” as well, but the blanket didn’t hold it up well, and it now sat in a pile on the floor. Across the ceiling, the lights that were normally on the tree hung from wall to wall instead. In the middle of the decoration explosion stood Bucky, balancing on a chair, while he hung another strand of lights. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had a light smudge of dust on his face and some tinsel caught in his hair, which he hadn’t seemed to notice. He was singing along smoothly to the song on the radio, something about a winter wonderland. Clearly the singer didn’t know what New York snow was like, but looking around at the living room again, he could probably consider this their own winter wonderland.

“You know the lights usually go around the tree, Buck,” Steve finally spoke up. Bucky almost fell off the chair in surprise. When he caught his balance, he chuckled, securing the lights, before jumping off the chair, facing Steve. 

“Yeah well, I didn’t want the blanket to catch fire,” he shrugged. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Fever broke.” Steve grinned as Bucky moved to feel his forehead. Bucky grimaced as he pulled his now sweat-covered hand back. 

“Gross, you let me do that on purpose,” he whined, reaching to wipe his hand on Steve’s blanket. Steve snickered as he ducked back. “I’m gonna draw you a bath, go get some blankets for the couch, and a fresh change of clothes”

“M’fine Buck.”

“No you’re not. Just cause the fever broke, doesn’t mean you’re all better. You’ll catch a cold next if you don’t get warm.” 

“Fine,” Steve grumbled, turning back towards his room. He hesitated by the door, turning back to look out at the apartment again. Half the lights didn’t even work, the ornaments were cracked, the tinsel getting more and more crumpled each year, and the makeshift tree was so tacky it made Steve laugh to himself. Bucky turned toward the noise.

“Okay, look I know it’s not much, but-”

“It’s perfect, Buck. Really I… thank you.” Bucky shrugged at the sincere awe in Steve’s face, breaking eye contact and looking shyly down at his feet.

“It’s nothing, Steve. Like I told you. You and your ma deserve nice things. You’re good people.” He turned back to the stove and began heating water for the bath. “Now go. Gotta get you warmed up.”

Steve complied, smiling to himself. Where would he be without Bucky.

Sarah Rogers had a very similar thought as she stepped through the front door a few hours later, exhausted, her blonde hair escaping her tight bun. She gaped at the brightly decorated living room, the man on the radio finishing up a Holiday poem and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. She flicked it off, and took a good look around, noticing the “tree” and all of the tinsel. She shook her head fondly, glancing over to the couch. 

Curled up in the nest of blankets, snoring loudly, was Steve, his skin looking a much healthier color than it had when she had left that morning. On the floor, in front of the couch, Bucky was fast asleep as well, propped in a seated position, with his head back against Steve’s stomach. On the side table next to the couch, there was a thick piece of paper that looked like it had been pulled from Steve’s sketchbook. Sarah picked up the paper slowly so as to not disrupt her boys, and took a closer look. It’s a beautiful shot, done in pencil, and it looked more like a photograph than a drawing. It’s of their living room, maybe Christmas last year. It pictured Steve and Bucky decorating the Christmas tree in tinsel and Sarah reaching to put the angel on top. In the corner, it read “Merry Christmas, Mom” and it was signed and dated. 

Sarah set the paper back down on the table, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She really couldn’t believe her luck. Her son beat the odds over and over again, and with any luck, he would keep beating them and he would live a long healthy life, and she knew without a doubt, that Bucky would be right by his side, keeping him safe and making him smile. She looked thoughtfully down at her boys again. Steve’s fingers were lightly tangled in Bucky’s hair, probably not a conscious decision, and she didn’t think she had ever seen Bucky look more serene. She wondered if they knew. Probably not. Boys were usually slower on the uptake. She grinned warmly at the thought. They had found each other so early in life, it might take a while for them to truly realize what they meant to each other. She just hoped they would have the chance to figure it out without all the hate in the world crushing it out of them. They deserved to be happy. She couldn't wait to see it, to support them, and give them a safe place to exist.

She grabbed a blanket out of Steve’s room, and draped it over Bucky. He was going to have a stiff neck in the morning, but she didn’t have the heart to wake them. Bucky spent so much time in their little apartment, Winnie probably won’t even be worried when he doesn’t come home tonight.

Sarah turned off the lights with a whispered “Merry Christmas, boys,” and disappeared into her bedroom.

_I don’t care if the carpet's stained we've got food upon our table  
I don’t care if it’s gonna rain, our little room is warm and stable _

December 25th, 1940

Steve’s eyes fluttered open, one thing immediately apparent to him. The room was dark, but not in the way that told him it was still night time. It was an odd shade of gray, a filtered, murky light, as if the sun was shining but the curtains were drawn tight. Except they didn’t have curtains.

Steve turned his head to look out the window, but he couldn’t. Snow was piled up on the windowsill, far more than he imagined the tiny brick ledge could actually hold. The window was rattling against the frame, the part not obscured by snow showing a flurry of white outside. A storm then. Steve sighed, letting his head flop back onto his pillow. He heard a snort from the other side of their small bedroom, and turned to see Bucky grinning at him from his bed. His bright eyes and the hand resting under his head told Steve he had been awake for a little while. 

“At least the heat works this year,” Bucky snickered. “Ran into Stuart downstairs last night after he got it running. Called it a ‘miracle’. Useless.”

“Yeah that would have been a hoot, no heat in the middle of a blizzard. Can’t believe we’ve been blessed with such a superior landlord,” Steve snorted, rolling onto his side to look at Bucky properly. “Didn’t happen to pick up any groceries last night between the docks and the dance hall, did you?” 

“Well you would know if you had been home when I dropped by to get changed,” Bucky smiled. “Where were you, anyway?”

Steve shrugged, flopping back onto his back so that Bucky couldn’t see the flush of his cheeks. “Droppin’ off an art piece.”

“You gotta job? I didn’t know you were working on anything.”

“Uh yeah it was nothing. Just a quick job, but it paid well.” 

Bucky raised his head off his arm and propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his best friend. “More eight-papers?” Steve nodded.

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. Steve didn’t ever lie to Bucky. If he withheld a little information, well that was his business. Eight-papers were a job he never enjoyed doing, and wouldn’t take the work unless they really needed the money. These particular drawings paid a fair amount more, as they were for a much more targeted customer, and it made Steve squirm uncomfortably under Bucky’s scrutiny. 

Steve didn’t think Bucky would judge him for taking the job. Money is money after all, and they could always use more money, but the implications behind it could lead to a much bigger and possibly volatile conversation. Steve would never let their friendship be compromised by something like this. It could end everything, and as much as Steve assured that he could make it on his own, he knows that’s not true. Without Bucky, he would be lost. No, it’s better to withhold the truth, than to lose Bucky’s friendship.

“You know, if they make you uncomfortable, I’d rather you just didn’t do them. We can get by without them, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes were so sincere, it made Steve’s heart squeeze uncomfortably. Bucky always tried so hard to make sure Steve was comfortable, even if it meant extra shifts at the docks, or picking up a weekend job at the grocer’s down the street. Bucky did too much. Far too much. 

“No it’s fine. I mean the art isn’t distasteful, honestly. What people do with them when I’m done isn’t really my business.”

“But it’s bothering you. Something is, Steve, I can see it.” 

“I’m fine, Buck.” Steve sat up in bed, stretching his arms up over his head, missing Bucky’s wandering gaze.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” Now that was a lie. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

Bucky’s grin returned full force, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and his dimple making an appearance. Steve knew that would get him distracted. Bucky sat up as well, wiping the sleep out of his eyes with his palms. His hair was sticking up on end in the back, and falling into his face in the front. He dropped his hands into his lap and smiled sleepily at Steve. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.” Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest. “There’s coffee.”

“Woah, big spender,” Steve jested, stepping out of bed. He pulled open a drawer in their combined dresser and pulled a sweater out, tugging it over his head. 

“Yeah, they slipped me a little bonus for the holiday. Thought it might be nice. That’s mine, by the way,” Bucky gestured toward the sweater. His face had an odd pinched look to it, almost as if he was upset about Steve using Bucky’s belongings, even though they shared just about everything else. Steve never could pass up an opportunity to mess with Bucky though, and what a perfect opportunity this was.

“Oh it is? I thought it felt a little big.” Steve wiggled his fingers where the sleeves slid past his wrists and covered most of his hands. The bottom hem fell past his hips, covering the tops of his thighs and hiding his boxer shorts from view. The apartment wasn’t really cold. The heat in their apartment worked well, on the rare occasion that it worked at all, so he decided to forego proper pants. “Oh well. Thanks.” Steve waited for the complaint, the inevitable ‘take off my sweater, you little punk.’

“N-no problem.”

That was _not_ what Steve was expecting. Steve’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Bucky’s face looked pained, like it was hurting him to look at Steve, but his cheeks were stained pink. His gaze dropped down to his lap, fingers playing with a loose piece of yarn in his blanket. 

“Bucky? You okay?” Steve watched as Bucky schooled his features back into a smile that looked relatively genuine. 

“I’m great!” Bucky slid out of bed, keeping his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “C’mon, if you get the coffee started, I’ll make pancakes. I picked up Bisquick.”

“We really are living the life of luxury today, huh?”

“Oh just wait til’ you see what I picked up for tonight,” Bucky grinned, brushing past Steve, out into the living room. “Wait, wait in there a second!”

“Bucky, you really don’t need to keep doing this.”

“Oh just shut up.”

“Festive,” Steve snickered, obliging and staying out of view of the living room until Bucky gave him the okay.

Bucky rushed to the ‘tree’, which was still and would probably continue to be a green blanket resting on their coat rack. Trees were expensive, and temporary, and really just a waste of money, so they had ended up making this makeshift tree their tradition, thanks to Bucky. He plugged in the lights and gave the room a once-over to make sure everything was in place. Once he was satisfied, he called out for Steve to come in.

Steve wandered around the door frame and into the living room. “Honestly Buck, are you really gonna do that every year? We’re not kids anymore. I’m well aware that Santa isn’t coming in and making sure the tree looks nice.”

“Every year, Stevie.” Bucky’s face softened, and he turned his attention to the framed drawing on the stretch of wall closest to the tree. Steve knew it was Bucky’s favorite drawing, the picture of them all decorating the tree together, the Christmas gift he had made his mom years back. It had been the first piece of art they had hung when they got the apartment. “Every year, she would get up early to turn the lights on for you, and tradition is tradition.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly, stepping up and placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sure she would appreciate it.” Steve missed his mom fiercely, always would, but the holidays always made it a little harder for Bucky specifically. Steve knew it meant the world to him that his mom had introduced him to Christmas, welcomed him with open arms, and allowed him to share in their little family events. They stood quietly for a moment, looking fondly at the drawing for Sarah Rogers, until Steve’s stomach let out a loud rumble. Bucky cracked a wide smile, his laughter filling the living room.

“C’mon, let’s make some breakfast.”

Two hours later found them lounging on the couch, cups of weak coffee, an attempt to make it last a little, in their hands and their stomachs extremely full. Bucky had turned on the radio, and they listened to the news, reportings of happenings around the world, specifically in Germany being the most popular topic. Bucky’s face paled significantly, though his facial features stayed strong, looking almost determined. 

They had both been required to submit their names for the draft, back in September. By October, the President had begun reading names, broadcasted into their little radio in their little living room, and they sat on their little couch and listened. Steve had been given denial by the end of October, his health issues too glaringly obvious to overlook. Steve had shrugged it off. They weren’t at war. He didn’t feel it was necessary to go into basic training if they had no reason to train. They had continued to listen until every name was read, Bucky not included. They had both breathed a silent sigh of relief, though neither of them had let the other know what they were feeling. Bucky was too proud to admit to fear about something like this, and Steve too scared to admit he needed to be where Bucky was.

Still, the situation in Europe only grew more volatile every day, and Steve wondered how long it would be before the US got involved. He didn’t think anything would stop the country from drafting Bucky then, and no one would stop Steve from following. He would take whatever measures he needed to, tell any lie, whatever it took. He couldn’t leave Bucky by himself in a world so terrifying, even if Bucky didn’t need him there. But it was Christmas Day, and Steve didn’t need to think about this now.

Steve stood and changed the station to some happy holiday classics. Bucky visibly relaxed, avoiding eye contact with Steve to save face.

“I-uh. I have something for you. Hold on.” Steve disappeared into the bedroom as Bucky sat up on the couch.

“What do you mean you have something for me? We said no more gifts, punk,” Bucky called after him. 

Steve re-entered the room, rolling his eyes, a small package wrapped in newspaper in his hands. “You bought me coffee.” 

“I bought us coffee.” Steve just stared pointedly at Bucky’s full, untouched cup of coffee on the side table, raising one eyebrow. “Okay fine, I hate coffee.”

“I know. Take the gift.” Steve tossed it to him gently. Bucky gave him a look, trying for disappointed, before ripping into the paper with a happy grin. Inside laid a copy of 'Typewriter in the Sky'. Bucky had been meaning to pick up the book as soon as he had heard about it. Instantly drawn to the science fiction plotline, and the protagonist from New York. He had been raving about it to Steve for the last month. Bucky beamed up at him.

"This is new, Steve." Bucky's eyes looked a little shiny, like he was holding back tears, though Steve couldn't fathom why. It was just a book.

"It's nothing, Buck, just a little show of appreciation, I guess. You deserve nice things."

Bucky ducked his head, looking back down at the simple paperback. "I just… haven't had a new book in a while. No writing or nuthin' in it."

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well actually I uh… it has a little bit on the title page."

Bucky looked up at Steve with a furrowed brow, and Steve worked hard to make sure his adoration wasn't glaringly obvious on his face. Bucky rarely looked confused, and it was very endearing. Bucky turned to the title page, and gasped. There was a full page portrait of Bucky, drawn as the character in the book. He stood on the deck of a large ship, his hair blowing back from his face and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. The detail was incredible, and it must have taken Steve a long time to draw. Even longer still, considering Steve had to read at least part of the book to think this up. Bucky stared at the page, his mouth hanging open. Steve shifted from foot to foot.

"S-sorry, I mean, if you wanted a fresh copy, I just thought... this would be a little more special. Personable, I mean. I always give you a drawing on Christmas, so I figured why not, but if you didn't want it, I could get you a new-"

Bucky got up off the couch as Steve was rambling and wrapped the smaller man in a tight hug, his chin resting on top of Steve’s head, which effectively shut him up. Steve and Bucky never shied away from physical touch or outward displays of affection. They had known each other for so long, it was basically second nature to reach out and touch, to nudge or give a pat on the shoulder, or a quick hug. This went on much longer than a quick hug though. Steve’s body was rigid at first, his heartbeat slightly erratic. Being held like this by Bucky was not the easiest for him to handle. After a minute though, he relaxed into the embrace. Bucky didn’t show any signs that he had felt Steve’s previous discomfort, only squeezing just a little tighter. The taller man let out a quiet shuddering breath, and a realization struck Steve like a bolt of lightning.

Bucky was scared. Bucky, who never showed anyone but Steve that he could be vulnerable, who never complained, who always smiled and chose to focus on positives, who never showed fear, was shaking in Steve’s arms. He was scared. Steve could feel it. Bucky was allowing Steve to see a side of him nobody else saw, save for Sarah Rogers and maybe a doctor or a priest in the few times they thought Steve wasn’t gonna make it through the winter. But he always made it through, always came back, was always by Bucky’s side, just as Bucky was always by his. Steve could feel that the country was on the verge of something enormous and terrifying and _important_ , that could possibly take all of this away, and Bucky was _scared_. 

“Hey. Hey Buck, we’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky pulled back, keeping his arms on Steve’s shoulders as he took another deep shuddering breath. He looked down at the floor, before peeking up through his long eyelashes which were clumped together, his eyelids wet and red, and Steve felt his throat tighten. “It’s just… what if that day comes, Steve. What if… what if this is the last Christmas we get together, what if all this just gets torn apart with one letter, one slip of paper, I can’t-” Bucky let out a shaky sigh, pushing his hair back out of his face, and looking at Steve fully, his eyes full of desperate determination, and his pupils dilated. Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the intensity. “I can’t survive something like that, if I never tell you.”

Steve’s entire body is frozen again, his pupils blown wide, his heart beating so fast, so loud, he’d be surprised if Bucky couldn’t hear it. They were close now, almost nose to nose, and Steve is trying so hard to bring himself back down to Earth, a steady chant of ‘this can’t be it, this is not what you think, do not look into this, do not lie to yourself’ playing in his head. But he can’t stop himself from asking.

“Tell me what, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just stares, his eyes moving to every part of Steve’s face, pausing for a moment before continuing on, like he was trying to memorize every aspect. "I just-" Bucky gulped, the determination fading out of his eyes, as he looked back down at the floor, losing his nerve. "I just don't think I could live if anything happened to you. So you promise me, you're gonna keep yourself healthy and stay out of trouble, you know, if...if I get called. So I have a home to come back to." 

Steve pushed back from Bucky, his eyes wide. "If you get called, I'm coming with you."

Something dark flickered over Bucky's face, vulnerability replaced with what looked like anger. Steve wasn't sure which emotion he liked less. "Steve they won't take you. You know they won't." 

"Let them try to keep me away."

"Steve, you can't-"

"You're not going anywhere without me."

"What do you think, your health will magically not be a problem anymore? That they'll just choose to overlook that?"

"If they get desperate enough." Steve jutted out his jaw.

"Steve I don't want to fight with you about this."

"Then don't. It's a nonissue anyway. We're not at war, you're not going anywhere yet."

Bucky just stared at him, letting out a deep sigh. He stepped forward, almost out of instinct it seemed, and wrapped Steve in another fierce hug. "Okay. We're gonna be okay right?"

Steve clutched onto Bucky’s shirt, choosing not to answer. The thought that he could maybe lose Bucky soon was too much for him to handle. It made him feel desperate and reckless, like he would fight anyone and everyone to keep Bucky safe. He would swim across the world, or drop out of a plane without a parachute, or walk alone across enemy lines into oncoming fire. If war was coming, if they tried to take Bucky from him, there would not be a force in this world that could stop him from going with, but for now, he would drop it. Today was about being together. 

Steve pulled back, looking back up at Bucky, their eye contact partially blocked by Bucky's hair, which was falling into his face. Steve chuckled, pushing it out of his face.

"Time for a haircut, Buck."

The brunette ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink, though from his earlier irritation or from something else entirely, Steve wasn't sure. "Yeah, okay," Bucky shrugged. "You wanna help me out with that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, they were in the kitchen, Bucky sitting in a chair in front of the sink, his hair now damp. His eyes slid closed as Steve's artful fingers weaved through his curls, snipping away the hair little by little. It didn't take long, just a quick trim, but Bucky always loved the way it felt getting his hair cut by Steve. It was soothing and allowed for some intimacy they didn't typically have. Bucky would sit in that chair for hours if he could, but all too soon, Steve was running a comb through his hair and stepping away, declaring that his masterpiece was complete.

Bucky grinned, standing up and rushing to their bathroom to look in the mirror. "You know, I'll never understand how you can make my hair look so good when your hair looks like that," he called, strutting back into the kitchen, preening just slightly. Steve rolled his eyes, throwing the towel that he had used to dry Bucky's hair straight in his face.

"It's because I let _you_ cut my hair, jerk. I won't be making that mistake again."

"Fair enough." 

The rest of their afternoon was spent in companionable silence. The blizzard had calmed down a bit, and Steve could see out of the window onto the fire escape. Brooklyn was covered in a blanket of white, and it was rare to see the city so still. He took the opportunity to sketch, perched on a chair near the window. Bucky lounged on the couch, already a good way into his new novel, fully engrossed. Steve noticed the sun setting long before Bucky did, and finally admitted defeat, packing up his art supplies and bringing them back to the bedroom. He came out and turned on the lamp next to the couch, causing Bucky to jump, his attention finally drawn to the headache he was developing from squinting in the dark. He had been so absorbed that he hadn't noticed the sun setting.

"Y'know, that's a good way to lose your eyesight, Buck."

"I think that's just a myth." Bucky carefully marked his place in his book and shut it, setting it on the side table. He stretched his arms up over his head, his sweater riding up a few inches to show a sliver of his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Steve staring at the small patch of skin before he shook his head, turning toward the kitchen.

Bucky took a steadying breath. It hadn't been the first time he had caught Steve looking at him like that, but he had yet to figure out why. He had to remind himself constantly that it couldn't possibly be the same reason he looked at Steve like that, that Steve wasn't like him. Steve would have a future one day. A nice dame would realize that Steve was a catch in every way. He'd probably do something stupid, like start a fight with a guy twice his size to defend her honor, and she'd be gone. She would see everything in him that Bucky already saw, and they would fall in love and they would get married, and Bucky would live across the street with whatever girl he decided to settle in with because that's what was expected of him. Maybe Bucky could love her like he loved Steve. Maybe he could learn to settle into a normal life. He really hoped it would be enough. He wanted it to be, for Steve's sake. He would do just about anything to make sure Steve lived a happy life, even if it meant he had to live a lie. It was the safest bet for him anyway. The world wasn't a safe place for someone who thought like Bucky. People were too cruel. 

"I'm gonna start dinner." Steve's voice shook Bucky out of his little pity party, and Bucky got to his feet quickly, striding into the kitchen. 

"Like hell you are." Bucky plucked the pan right out of Steve's hand and pushed him away from the stove. "I already planned something nice, and I won't have you fucking it up by setting it on fire."

"I really think you're overexaggerating how bad I am."

Bucky just landed Steve with a withering gaze, before turning to the refrigerator and pulling out the bundle of lamb he had picked from the butcher's the day before. As he unwrapped the butcher paper, Steve's eyes widened, his pout disappearing. 

"Irish stew?"

"Irish stew." Bucky smiled, pulling his sharpest knife from the drawer next to him, and laid it on the counter next to the lamb, along with the onions, potatoes and carrots. "You wanna help cut?"

Steve hopped into action starting with the onions immediately. Bucky had learned the recipe from Sarah, back when he was still a teenager. He remembered the first time he went home and made it for his own family. His mom had been over the moon. The soup was simple, but it was hearty and it just made you feel warm. Steve knew the recipe and the prep process like the back of his hand, and he made quick work of the vegetables. The lamb came next, cut quickly into cubes, and Bucky started layering it all in their soup pot. This stew was a delicacy, as lamb was not cheap, but it was Steve's absolute favorite, and Bucky's holiday tip from the docks really had been nice. 

Bucky finished off with a layer of potatoes and poured lamb stock over the top, waiting for it to boil, and then bringing it down to a simmer, putting the lid back on, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Should be done around 7."

Steve set about cleaning the counters, storing leftover vegetables in the refrigerator, while Bucky washed the dishes they had already used. 

Steve made his way back into the living room and turned on the radio, as Bucky rustled around in the kitchen. 

“What are you doing in there now?”

“I told you I had another surprise, didn’t I?” Bucky emerged from the kitchen with two glasses and a handle of whiskey that he had actually scored for relatively cheap. Joe, from the docks, had received it as a Christmas present, and had been raving about how he was keeping on the straight and narrow, because he had a baby on the way, and his wife was fed up with the drinking. Bucky jumped at the chance to scoop it up for a couple bucks.

Steve grinned wide when he caught sight of the bottle, one eyebrow raised. “Where’d you get that?” He reached to grab the chipped glasses from Bucky’s hand before they dropped, and set them down on the coffee table. Bucky just winked at him and he unscrewed the cap and poured them both a generous amount. 

“A Christmas miracle, Stevie.” He sat down on the opposite end of the couch and picked up the glasses, handing one to Steve, and raised his toward the blonde. “To heat and stew.”

“To heat and stew,” Steve chuckled. They both took a sip and grimaced at the overwhelming burn. It definitely warmed them up, that’s for sure. 

After the stew was finished and they had each had another round of drinks, Steve stayed in the living room, lounging back on the couch as Bucky had insisted on cleaning the dishes.The radio was playing some rendition of Carol of the Bells, and the stew had evened out the effects of the whiskey, so Steve felt warm and unusually chipper, but definitely not drunk. His eyes were closed, and his head rested back on the cushions behind him, incredibly relaxed. The final notes of Carol of the Bells rang through the living room, and a new song started. The familiar opening notes of Winter Wonderland had Steve opening his eyes, and he was met with Bucky staring back at him, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, a dish towel over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets, his freshly cut hair curling slightly from the steam of the dishwater, and god, Steve didn’t think he could possibly be more fond.

That is until Bucky opened his mouth.

“You wanna dance, Steve?” Bucky smiled gently, looking at Steve through his lashes, his cheeks tinged the faintest pink. Steve’s heart squeezed painfully. It had been doing that a lot today, he thought.

“Y’know I don’t like dancing, Bucky.”

“Ah, but you’ve never danced with me.” Bucky grinned cheekily, stepping toward Steve. Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“We go out dancing all the time together, Buck. It doesn’t make a difference.”

Bucky shook his head, letting out a tiny chuckle as he stepped even closer, stopping in front of Steve. “That’s not what I mean.” Bucky held out his hand for Steve to take. “Dance with me, Stevie.”

Steve’s ears burned, probably turning bright red. Bucky looked hopeful, and a little shy, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and his mouth in a close lipped smile that was so sincere it was painful to look at. Steve hesitated, bringing his hand halfway up before stopping. This felt like something important, like they were on the verge of something a little earth-shattering, but it’s also nothing at all. It’s just Steve and Bucky. Just them in their little apartment, and Bucky is asking Steve to dance with him, and Steve feels soft and warm, and Bucky looks so hopeful. Steve placed his hand in Bucky’s, and allowed Bucky to pull him gently up from the couch. 

Bucky kept it nice and simple, taking the lead and turning Steve slowly around their living room. Steve tripped a couple times, but Bucky’s arm was tight around his waist, keeping him steady, and Steve could feel Bucky’s laughter rumbling in his chest. They finally settle for swaying back and forth, turning slowly on the rug in front of their ‘tree’, neither of them fully aware that they were no longer dancing with any technique, or finesse, or with any purpose. It felt natural to Steve, just being close to Bucky like this. There was no tension, no awkwardness. It wasn’t like anything Steve had experienced on any of the double dates he had been dragged to. This was easy. 

Bucky’s arm tightened around his waist just the tiniest bit, and Steve didn’t think about resting his head on Bucky’s chest until his face made contact with the firm muscle, his hand that was resting on Bucky’s shoulder sliding to the back of his neck. He didn’t think about the fact that Bucky never stopped moving. He didn’t think about the fact that the hand that was originally in Bucky’s had been brought up around Bucky’s neck to meet his other hand, Bucky’s hand circled loosely around his forearm instead. He didn’t think about how Bucky’s head slowly came to rest on top of Steve’s. He didn’t think about how they were no longer turning, and their swaying didn’t even match the song anymore, Winter Wonderland long over. He didn’t think about any of that, until the man on the radio wished them all a Merry Christmas, and the signal turned to static, and suddenly everything came crashing back to Earth.

Steve froze where he was, Bucky doing the same. They didn’t move, they were barely breathing, but Steve could feel Bucky’s heartbeat, going a mile a minute under his cheek. Steve didn’t utter a single word. If he spoke, or moved, or breathed, this would shatter. Bucky would push him away, accusing him of being depraved, or make some excuse as to why he needed to make a speedy exit, like he would rather face the aftermath of the blizzard than the aftermath of this situation.

So Steve stayed still, didn’t speak, didn’t breathe, his eyes closed, his heart pounding. They stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably only a few seconds before Bucky’s voice cut the silence, still not moving from their position in the middle of the floor, arms around each other, his voice shaking.

“Please breathe, Steve. If you have an asthma attack now, you’ll ruin the moment.”

Steve let out a breath in a surprised chuckle, his face flushing dark red. He would have assumed Bucky was telling a joke, but his voice seemed so tentative, so afraid, that Steve needed to assure him. He moved to pull back but Bucky stopped him, keeping him in position. 

"Please don't," Bucky whispered into Steve's ear. "Please, I… just...don't leave. I think I could take on anyone or anything in the world right now but it," Bucky hesitated, his heartbeat jumping to an even faster tempo, and his breath caught in his chest, where Steve's head still rested. "It would break me if I lost you. I can handle anything else. Stay and yell at me and we can pretend this never happened tomorrow, or forget it now, and we can just go to bed like normal. Just please don't go away, Steve." 

Steve's heart shattered and swelled at the same time. Bucky never showed fear. He always seemed so confident, so sure, even when they were kids, and now he's chosen to show his vulnerability twice in one day. To Steve. Only Steve. Always Steve. Steve couldn't believe that Bucky would ever doubt that he could feel the same way, but to be fair, Steve didn't think Bucky had felt that way for him.

“I don’t…” Steve trailed off and Bucky pulled in a shaky breath. “Buck, I don’t want to forget this happened. I-I could never forget this moment.” Steve did pull back then, Bucky too shocked to focus on keeping him close, so that he could look Bucky in the eye.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, stunned by the intensity in his best friend’s eyes, the tears gathering at the corners, the smile on his lips. Bucky just stared, his mouth hanging open. “Steve what do you-”

“I’m not going anywhere, Buck.” Steve felt empowered as he spoke. He would blame it on the whiskey, but he knew that wasn’t the driving force behind his passion. Bucky’s silver blue eyes full of sincerity and fear, his freshly-cut brown curls, his stupid perfect cupid’s bow, the dimple in his chin, the creases by his eyes, Bucky was everything he loved, and everything he had, and nothing was going to hold him back now. “I don’t want to forget this, I don’t want to pretend that this didn’t happen, I don’t want to fight, or pretend it’s normal, I don’t want anything but…”

“Stevie,” Bucky whispered, inching closer, their faces inches apart now. “Tell me.”

“I just want you.” Then he was raising himself up on his tiptoes, and he was getting closer and Bucky closed the distance, and then Bucky’s lips were on Steve’s and it just… was.

There was no fanfare, no fireworks, no extraordinary spark, nothing to signify that this was an incredibly momentous occasion, just Steve’s arms moving back to Bucky’s neck, and Bucky moving one hand to cradle the side of Steve’s face, the other weaving into the back of Steve’s (Bucky’s) sweater. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but the meaning was something deep, and it wasn’t intense, but the feelings that came along with it were very intense. It was both life changing and completely normal, because it was still just Steve and Bucky in their little apartment. It would always be Steve and Bucky, always them against anything that came their way. It had always been like that, and so nothing really changed. 

Steve pulled back, breaking the kiss, and Bucky’s eyes were closed and his smile lit up the entire apartment, and that, Steve thought, was perfect. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, and he rested his forehead on Steve’s and he laughed. Steve’s heart jumped at the sound, and he closed his own eyes as he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Buck.” 

They needed to talk about it, needed to discuss the danger it would put them in, but it was Christmas Day, and nothing heavy should ever be discussed on Christmas Day, that’s what Sarah Rogers always told them. So they saved the conversations for the next day, and they spent the rest of their evening wrapped up in their little bubble of bliss in the middle of a blizzard, protected by their little apartment, and the working heater, and their sweaters, and each other. 

_Why so scared that you’ll mess it up? When perfection keeps you haunted,  
All we need is your best my love, that’s all anyone ever wanted._

December 23rd, 2016

The punching bag swung violently from the force of Steve’s final blow, but it didn’t come off the ceiling anymore, thanks to Tony’s reinforced “Super-Soldier-Proof-Equipment.” Tony had spent a good amount of time investing in it once Bucky had come to the compound, 6 months back, tired of having to replace his gym equipment every time one of them had a bad day. 

Steve stepped back, wiping his face with a towel, and took a walk on the track around the gym. This was normally his routine workout he did with Bucky, a major part of the recovery process, but Bucky had been closing himself off for almost a month now. He hadn’t participated in a workout in at least a week, and Steve never wanted to push him to do something he didn’t want to do, especially when his ability to choose and the understanding that he could say no were still hard things for him to grasp. 

The recovery process had been a hard one at first, but Bucky was making incredible strides, helped along by Bruce and Tony, as well as Bucky’s appointed therapist. However, the last month had felt like they were taking giant steps back, Bucky growing increasingly quiet and closed off. Steve wasn’t sure what the trigger was, but he knew there was one. He was determined to pull him out of his own head, hopefully before Christmas, and it would be a lot easier if he could just figure out what it was that was bothering him. 

Steve ran a hand down his face, giving up on the workout, and instead heading back to his floor, to shower and change. He still had some Christmas shopping to do, maybe he could convince Bucky to go with him. They shared a floor, very similar to their apartment back in Brooklyn, but with separate bedrooms, and much more advanced technology. Bucky had actually taken to the technology far faster than Steve ever had, his fascination with it all very similar to his fascination with science fiction when they were young. How weird, Steve thought, that they were basically living out a science fiction novel now. It just wasn’t how they pictured getting there when they were kids.

Steve stepped through the door into their shared "apartment", and immediately found Bucky sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

"Hi, Steve." Bucky greeted without looking up, no doubt hearing Steve’s footsteps as he was coming down the hall. He took a sip and immediately grimaced, setting the mug down on the counter. "I don't like coffee, do I?"

"Never did, Buck." Bucky nodded pushing the cup toward Steve.

"I put two sugars in it. I thought that maybe that was something I liked once, but I think that's just how you take your coffee." He almost smiled. Steve's heart squeezed painfully. Of course Bucky remembered how Steve took his coffee. Bucky remembered more and more about them every day. It seemed like the only thing he couldn't remember was what they were to each other.

"That's exactly how I like my coffee," Steve said softly. "Thanks. Can I make you some tea? You used to like tea."

Bucky shrugged. "Sure, why not?" Steve grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, setting it back on the stove to boil.

"So I have to head into the city today, finish some shopping, would you like to come?" Steve didn't look at Bucky, opting instead to take a sip of his coffee. He didn't want to add any extra pressure, but Bucky stayed silent, and so he eventually turned to look at his friend. Bucky was staring off into the living room, where it looked like Christmas threw up. Tony and Pepper had taken the liberty of decorating everyone’s quarters for them. Without asking. Or warning. Steve wasn’t overly fond of it all. It seemed very commercialized, and not at all what he remembered Christmas being, but he assumed that’s just how it was now. There was a giant fake silver tree, covered in blue and red ornaments and tiny american flags, because Tony thought he was funny. The lights around the tree were something called LEDs, which were too bright and too vivid. There was a motion-sensored robot Santa on the bookshelf, that started singing when you passed it, and Steve was close to breaking it. He was honestly surprised Bucky hadn’t broken it himself the first time it startled him. There was a projector at the base of the Christmas tree, that projected snowflakes falling on the wall, which Steve couldn’t figure out how to turn off, and everything was just too… chrome. It all felt a little unsettling, in Steve’s opinion. Bucky hadn’t said a word about any of it.

Bucky continued to stare at the living room, looking almost frustrated. Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Bucky, you know I can’t help you through what you’re thinking if you don’t talk to me.”

“You don’t have to help me. I’m a grown man, Steve,” Bucky snapped, eyes turning back to Steve sharply.

“I know I don’t have to,” Steve stated simply, not breaking eye contact. Bucky sighed, closing his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, it was to the sound of the kettle whistling on the stove. Steve quickly removed it from the heat, noting that the sound had caused Bucky to tense up. Maybe he should just microwave the water next time. He busied himself making Bucky’s tea, allowing Bucky time to consider sharing what had him so closed off. When he finished, he sat down on the stool next to Bucky, silently passing him his tea. 

Bucky sipped it carefully, his eyes lighting up. “Was this my favorite tea?” 

“It was, yeah. It’s called Earl Grey, and you always added a little milk.”

“I remember this,” Bucky smiled softly as he took another sip of tea. Steve nearly cried. It was always something special to watch Bucky remember something new, something happy. Something not related to his torture at the hands of Hydra, or the pain of the war. Bucky turned his eyes back to Steve, alight with information. “You hated tea, especially this tea. You said it tasted like flowers.”

“It does taste like flowers. Flowers, or grass, or perfume” Steve laughed, a little choked up. He turned away, toward his coffee, so Bucky couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he knew Bucky saw them. He couldn’t get anything past Bucky anymore. Bucky never mentioned it though. Bucky sighed and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. When Steve finally looked back up, Bucky was gesturing back to the living room. 

“It’s all this, Steve.” Bucky looked pained, and a little confused, and Steve longed to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows, to take all the pain away and just hold him, but he didn’t dare push any boundaries. “It just-” Bucky dropped his hand back to his lap. “This all feels familiar, and yet it’s all wrong. Like a bad dream. It doesn’t feel comfortable, and it doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever known,but it won’t stop pushing at my brain. It’s like a memory knocking at the door, but I can’t get the door open and it’s just frustrating.” Bucky turned back to Steve and there was a single tear rolling down his cheek. Steve’s heart shattered. 

“This… this isn’t what it used to look like for us, Buck. Christmas was… Christmas was so much less and so much more. We had so little, and it was always so special for us.” Steve rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “This isn’t what it used to be like.”

“I just want to remember,” Bucky almost whispered.

“Do you want me to tell you about it?” Bucky shook his head, looking defeated. It never worked, Steve telling him about their past. Bucky’s memories never came back that way. It felt more like he was looking at those stories through someone else’s eyes. It wasn’t the same.

“I think it might just make me sad.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder once. The only physical contact they had had since Bucky came to the compound was shoulder touches, only the right shoulder. Steve refused to be the first one to initiate anything more. Steve was not a coward, but his situation with Bucky in the last six months left him feeling more unsure than he ever had in his life. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, you go. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

Bucky just shook his head. Steve nodded, heading into his room to shower and change. Before he made it back out the door, Bucky was calling after him.

“Yeah Buck,” Steve popped his head back in, and Bucky was giving him a stern look, one eyebrow raised as he looked Steve up and down. 

“Where do you think you’re going without a coat, punk?”

Steve grinned brightly, backpedaling to pull his coat out of the hall closet. “I was gonna grab it, jerk.”

“Sure you were.” His lips curled in a playful smile, but the sadness didn’t leave his eyes. Steve threw his coat and scarf on quickly. 

“I’ll be back soon.” As he stepped out the door, a plan was already formed in his brain. It would be easy, just a quick favor and one sleepless night was all he needed. He made his way down the hall toward the garage. “Friday,” he called. 

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

“I need you to order me a couple things and I need them by tomorrow, but you can’t let Bucky see them, understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 25th, 2016

Bucky woke up at the same time every day, regardless of what time he had finally gotten to sleep. More often than not, he was awake at least a couple hours before Steve, who had a bizarre sleep schedule, if you asked Bucky. So at 6:00AM, when he opened his eyes and heard music flowing softly in from the living room, he was instantly on high alert. He sprang up, his right hand grabbing the knife on his bedside table, his left arm clicking and whirring, preparing for a fight, as Bucky’s heart rate jumped up. He hugged the wall, slowly making his way toward his bedroom door, and quickly assessed how many steps it would take to put himself between Steve’s door and whatever the threat was. He moved quickly, crouched low and made it to Steve’s door before he turned around with the knife brandished. What he saw made him drop the knife immediately.

In the corner of the room where the silver monstrosity had once stood, there was a...blanket? There was a green yarn blanket stretched over what looked like an old coat rack, and it was adorned with cracked glass balls, strands of lights, and strings of something yellow. Popcorn, Bucky thought. It’s called popcorn. There was a little person with wings sitting crookedly on top, and underneath, there were boxes wrapped in newspaper. Garlands hung across the ceiling, with lights weaved into them. The projection on the wall was gone, replaced with what looked like framed drawings. In the corner near the kitchen, there was an old radio, like the one they had in their little apartment. It was playing something so familiar, memories shoving on Bucky’s brain like they had a battering ram. It was overwhelming, he was so close, this was so familiar. 

He walked slowly toward the wall, taking in the illustrations. The first was of two boys, one much smaller than the other. They were building a snowman, and the smaller boy was standing on his tiptoes to reach up and put a face on the head. The other boy stood to the side, his laughter captured clearly in the pencil sketch. His hair was a curly mess, stuffed under a beanie, and he looked like he was about to bowl over from the force of his laughs. They were both wrapped in so many layers, they looked more like five-point stars than kids. Bucky chuckled quietly, a tear gathering in the corner of his eye. It was definitely him and Steve. 

The next was in their apartment in Brooklyn, a picture of Bucky sitting on their couch in a big sweater. He was staring intently down at a book in his hands, already a good way into it. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration but his mouth was curled in a small smile. His hair looked shorter, like it had just been cut, but his bangs fell softly across his forehead. Bucky wondered what he had been reading. 

The last looked old, like it had been folded and unfolded, and the paper was extremely yellowed. The graphite was faded, and the corners slightly torn, but Bucky could still see exactly what it was. Bucky and Steve, when they were teenagers decorating a tree with strips of something shiny, Steve doing the lower half, and Bucky doing the higher parts. Behind them, there was a woman, tall and beautiful, with Steve’s kind but piercing eyes. She was reaching up and putting something on top of the tree. In the corner it read, “Merry Christmas, Mom,” and it was signed and dated “December 25, 1934.” Bucky blinked and suddenly all he could see was memories. Flashes after flashes of flickering lights and baked cookies and hot cocoa on cold nights, and running around the living room with Steve, and Sarah Rogers. Bucky reached up with a shaky hand and gently touched the picture, tears spilling over as memory after memory came back to him. Steve laying sick in his bed as Bucky ran around decorating the living room, shots of whiskey and a temporarily working heater, borrowed sweaters, gifts wrapped in newspaper, new science fiction novels and beautiful drawings from Steve, everything warm, and happy, and familiar. Bucky turned, and that’s when he saw Steve.

Steve sat at the kitchen counter, two cups of steaming liquid on the counter in front of him, as well as a plain brown box. He looked like he was about to cry as he smiled at Bucky. He tipped the box toward Bucky so he could see the contents. “You always wanted us to wait until you got to our house so that you could put up the tinsel. You loved the tinsel.” Bucky stepped up to the counter, putting his left hand in the box. The silver strips matched his hand perfectly, and it made Bucky laugh for some reason, though the tears were still running down his face. 

“Steve, I-.” Steve started crying too, his smile huge, and Bucky rushed around the counter and wrapped his arms around Steve. They were both shaking, the grief over the time they lost was overpowered by the joy of having each other again. They had traveled so far to end up right back here, side by side, where they belonged, always together. “I remember, Stevie.”

They stood in the kitchen and they cried, and they held each other and Bucky thought that this was exactly what home was supposed to feel like. He spent the last six months just trying to find who he was and where he belonged, and the answer was in the room next to his the whole time. It seemed so simple now that he thought about it, now that he remembered. It was always like this. Just Steve and Bucky in their little apartment, Steve and Bucky on the battlefield, Steve and Bucky, always just them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hot cocoas were had, and memories were being passed back and forth, as they sat together on either side of their couch, facing each other with their socked feet resting against each other. Steve was currently recounting a story about Sarah letting him try to bake and him burning the cookies horribly. Bucky was laughing freely when a new song came over the radio, and Bucky froze. He knew it well, it was one of the first Christmas songs to play on the radio. Something about a snowman in a meadow, and a winter wonderland, but that’s not what had Bucky frozen on the spot. There was another flash, something warm, his arm around a thin waist, his cheek resting on soft hair, his fingers tangled in a sweater, soft cold lips on his, a year of warmth and kisses and intimacy before the war tore it all away from them. Bucky took in a sharp breath as he came back to the present, and Steve was watching him with wide eyes, also frozen.

“Steve I…” Bucky cleared his throat, the tears returning. He was crying an awful lot today, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He stared straight into Steve’s bright blue eyes and he lost all words. He wasn’t really good with them anymore anyway. He never really was when it came to Steve. He always relied on actions instead, and so he stood, and he turned, and he held his hand out to Steve, who just stared at him, much like he did that night so many years ago. 

“Dance with me, Stevie.”

Steve melted, his eyes welling up. “I really can’t dance, Buck,” but he stood anyway, taking Bucky’s hand and clutching it tightly as Bucky pulled Steve into his arms. 

“I don’t think I can either, but we can try, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, and then they were dancing. Turning slow circles into the carpet, and Bucky was looking up at Steve instead of down, but it was all the same, really. A tender moment, that felt so fragile and yet so unbreakable at the same time. Steve pulled Bucky closer resting their foreheads together and it was so familiar, and so right, so Bucky couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and pressing their lips together, relying on actions yet again. The kiss lasted just a moment before Steve was pulling back, and Bucky’s heart clenched in fear for just a second before Steve pressed their foreheads back together, his smile blinding. “Buck, do you… you remember?”

“I remember,” Bucky whispered before pressing back in for another kiss, and this time Steve didn’t pull away. They stayed in their little bubble, and the song changed, and they weren’t even dancing anymore, but they didn’t care. Bucky was finally home. 

_Love is how we do, let no judgment overrule it_  
Love I look to you, and I sing  
Let love lead us, love is Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone!
> 
> I was rushing a little to finish this before Christmas Day, and there are a couple things I wanted to explore more, like how Bucky celebrates Hanukkah with his family, but I ran out of time to do proper research, so I'll probably explore that next year! I loved writing this, please let me know what you think! I'm still getting back into the swing of writing.


End file.
